Free Three Black Swans by Caroline B. Cooney

“Although I think in our hemisphere there are only white swans. Australia has black swans. I’ve always wanted to go to Australia. Maybe a train trip through the outback. What was that movie, do you remember that movie? Ever since I saw that movie I’ve wanted to go to Australia.”
    “‘Black swans,’” her father explained, paying no attention to his wife’s travelogue, “‘are events that are hugely important, rare and unpredictable, and explicable only after the fact.’”
    “I wonder what the airfare to Australia is. Wouldn’t that bea good vacation? Of course it would be such a long flight. I wish we were rich and could fly first class.”
    “Great metaphor, huh, Miss?” said her father. “I think, since it’s the
Journal
, the black swan refers to the economy.”
    “Thanks, Dad,” Missy was shaking. She went to her room. Shut the door. Called her cousin. “Hi, Claire.”
    “I hope you’re happy,” said Claire. “There’s a video. Aiden already saw it. He said he understood why I sobbed. Missy, how could you do this to me?”
    I did it
for
you, thought Missy. For both of us. “You agreed to it.”
    “But I didn’t understand! And how are our parents going to understand? And what are
we
going to have to understand after
they
understand?”
    “Maybe that we really are sisters?”
    “Oh, come on, Missy! You set Mrs. Stancil up. You talked her into that hoax assignment. You staged this. You wanted me to face your theory in public. Why didn’t you just say to me Wednesday night on the phone that you don’t think we’re cousins? That you think we’re identical twins?”
    “Because you wouldn’t have taken it seriously, Claire. You always say we don’t even look alike. You laughed at the saleswoman at the mall when we bought the same earrings, just like all the other times we’ve ended up with the same stuff. I even had you wear the earrings today to remind you. It didn’t mean a thing to you. We convinced the whole school, Claire. Every single person believed us. Even Jill thought it was amazing that my new twin has the same name as my cousin.”
    “It is not true,” said Claire. “Our mothers are right. You and I are on some crazy mental cliff. You’re trying to pull me off the edge with you. We should have stopped this sleepover nonsense back in middle school. We’re stopping now, Melissa. I’m not coming over tomorrow night and I don’t want you coming here. I will not be your toy twin.”

MIDAFTERNOON
The same Thursday
Long Island, New York
    T HE WINDOWS OF Genevieve Candler’s high school were not designed to open. With the air-conditioning turned off for the season, the soft warm sun had turned the building into a sauna. Sleepy from the heat, Genevieve drifted down the hall toward her final class.
    Normally Genevieve was good at school—academics and friendships, sports and cafeteria dynamics came easily to her.
    Today—nothing. She could not get her mind off dinner last night.
    According to her best friend, Emma, Genevieve had the least involved parents in New York State. Emma’s parents were the opposite. They won the award for most involved. They texted Emma, for example, every passing period to ask how the previous class had gone. Emma could hold lucid conversations while thumbing to a parent, B-plus on quiz. Must look up unicameral legislatures.
    Genevieve would have been thrilled if her parents even oncea year noticed what was going on in her classes. Or that she had classes, for that matter.
    Ned and Allegra Candler were pleasant to their daughter, as if she were a foreign exchange student who would be leaving in a week or two, and for whom a committee was responsible.
    And yet Genevieve always hoped.
    Last night her father had shown up with a white paper bag from one of the best delis on the Island. He had produced Moroccan spiced lamb, veal Toscana with leeks and mushrooms, grilled salmon pasta salad, coconut chicken with mango salsa, roasted asparagus,